


Promises

by goddessofcruelty



Series: Lamentations [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Angst, Blow Jobs, Bottom!Peter, Gun Kink, I named her Sadie, Kidnapping, Lies and secrets, Light Masochism, M/M, Magic!Stiles, Minor D/s overtones, Parallel Universes, Praise Kink, References to Child Abuse, Yes there's a baby, omc-only not really
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-22
Updated: 2014-04-28
Packaged: 2018-01-20 08:23:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 13,321
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1503560
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/goddessofcruelty/pseuds/goddessofcruelty
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Peter trembles again and then he starts to fall, and Chris watches. Until Peter twists his body in a strange way, so hard that the hunter can hear something crack in his spine.<br/>And then Chris sees it.<br/>Peter is holding a baby.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt: Chris sees Peter with a baby.
> 
> This one is dedicated to [Inouken](http://inouken.tumblr.com/) (who encouraged me through a middle of the night freak out), and to [Halefire](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Halefire) (who gave me the Malia idea).

Chris checks his watch and then nods at Scott, pointing him to the right, and Derek to the left. They've got Kate and Malia, and their bizarre pack, surrounded in the warehouse. Scott, perhaps recalling all the times that these things had gone badly when Derek was Alpha, had asked Chris to take point. Chris was all too willing. Kate was his responsibility, just as Gerard had been.

It's 3 am, middle of the night, and they're hoping to catch them unaware. Chris has his scent blocker, but there's no breeze tonight. It's cold enough that the leather jacket he's wearing is a welcome warmth, and it's pitch black, even the streetlights are out. Chris switches on the heartbeat muffler, and then slides the night vision goggles on before stepping forward in the massive building.

 

He wonders briefly why Beacon Hills has so many abandoned factories. Stiles would know, but he isn't part of this little endeavor. From what Chris understands, Stiles has become a bit of a recluse, no longer wanting anything to do with the supernatural.

The hunter doesn't blame him. This life has taken his wife and daughter, and forced him to kill his father...and now had him standing opposed to his baby sister and her daughter. An Argent doesn't just get out of the life, though. Chris learned his lesson with Allison.

 

Chris hears a slight noise, and he's suddenly hyper-focused on his task, sweeping the hallway with his enhanced gaze before catching sight of a sliver of light on the floor. There's a hidden door here. He runs his hands silently along the wall. It takes five long minutes of delicate searching, but he finds a pressure point and deploys it.

The wall swings back, and a flood of light hits his goggles. He swears and tears them off, eyes watering as he takes aim and fires a tranq right in the ass of the werewolf in front of him. Chris recognizes that ass right before its owner turns slightly, his pale green eyes widening in shock before he wobbles as the drugs took hold. (But not because he has a small obsession with that ass. No not at all.)

Peter Hale.

Why the hell would Peter be here? Was he helping Kate and Malia?

Peter trembles again and then he starts to fall, and Chris watches. Until Peter twists his body in a strange way, so hard that the hunter can hear something crack in his spine.

And then Chris sees it.

Peter is holding a baby. He's twisted himself up to protect the baby as he falls.

Chris hooks his rifle over his shoulder by its strap and strides over, plucking the infant from Peter's arms as they shake, trying to negate the effects of the tranq and protect the child. Peter is trying to say something but his eyes roll back in his head before he can spit it out.

That's how Derek and Scott find him, standing over Peter's comatose body, holding a baby girl. Derek looks from the baby to Peter and sums it all up with a single word.

“Fuck.”

Chris hands the baby off to Scott. “I'm guessing she's a wolf. You're her Alpha now. Congratulations.”

Derek's eyes open wide and he leans close to Scott, sniffing the baby. Then he closes his eyes, and grits his teeth. “Yeah. She's a Hale.”

Scott is smiling that goofy grin of his down at the baby, who has somehow slept through all of this. “Aw, she's adorable.”

Chris looks at Derek, and then at Peter. “Is she his?”

Derek shrugs. “She smells like Pack. I'm not a DNA test.”

Scott is cooing at her in the background.

Chris rolls his eyes, then looks at Derek. “Kate?”

Derek nods. “Yeah.”

Chris can see the hurt in his eyes. _It's not easy to kill a former lover._ His eyes go to Peter's unconscious form. _Not easy at all. Better Derek than me, though._

“And the girl, Malia?”

Derek shakes his head. “No sign of her.” His eyes narrow and he glares at Scott. “Will you shut up?”

Scott returns the glare, but stops singing. The baby must be awake now, because she reaches out to press her little hand against Scott's crooked jaw. He flashes red eyes at her and she coos.

Chris mutters.“Take her to Lydia, Derek and I'll track down the coyote.”

Scott looks hurt. “Why would I take her to Lydia?”

“Because _you_ have to deal with your beta.” Chris points to Peter on the floor. “And there's no one else.”

“Oh. Yeah. Not Lyds though. She doesn't like kids.” Scott talks quietly to the baby as he carries her from the room. “You're going to meet my mom, yes you are...”

Derek is watching Scott with a fondness in his eyes. “He's a good Alpha.”

Chris snorts. “He's a kid who gets distracted by pretty girls, whatever age they are.” Shaking his head, he continues. “Any ideas where we can find Malia?”

“Yeah, she had a den out in the Preserve.”

-

They come back empty-handed. No sign of the girl.

Melissa and Scott are in Chris' living room with the baby, and there's a crib and toys and clothing and..

“Where the fuck did all this come from?”

Melissa tsks at him. “Language, Christopher. Not in front of Sadie.”

The hunter arches a brow. “Sadie?”

Lydia waves a paper at Chris. “Sadie _Argent_. Congratulations.”

Scott is engrossed, so Chris walks over and snatches the paper from Lydia. It's a birth certificate.

“Sadie Marie Argent. Mother: Malia Tate Argent. Father: Unknown. Maternal Grandmother: Kate Argent. Paternal Grandfather: Unknown.”

Chris reads it two more times, silently in his head, then sets it down carefully before he crumples it.

“Well, that explains why they were working together.” Chris runs a hand through his hair. “Where's Derek?”

Lydia jerks her chin towards the basement stairs. “Keeping an eye on Uncle Creepy.”

Chris snorts in amusement, and then heads to talk to Derek.

“He said anything?”

Derek shakes his head, and gets up and leaves without a word.

The human watches him go, then turns his ice blue gaze back to Peter, who is now looking at him with a unreadable expression.

Chris meets the gaze, stone-faced.

Something changes in Peter's eyes and he relaxes, somehow managing to give off the impression that he's lounging in his chains. “First you nail me in the ass, then you tie me up. I think someone's got a crush...”

Chris absolutely, completely does _not_ react to that, doesn't think about nailing Peter in any way, shape or form.

Peter grins. “It still stings a bit. You're welcome to kiss it all better.”

Chris grits his teeth, and resists the urge to punch the younger man in the face.

“Why were you in that warehouse, Hale?”

Peter shrugs and his chest and arm muscles flex, and Chris wonders why in the hell he doesn't have a shirt on.

“Were you working with Kate and Malia?”

Peter tilts his head. “Ooh, are you _jealous_ , baby? Don't worry, you'll always be my best girl.”

It's obvious to Chris that he's not going to get anything out of Peter. He keeps trying anyways.

“Whose baby is that?”

Peter shrugs again, eyes wide and innocent. “Looks like it belongs to you now.”

“Where's Malia?”

Peter's eye sharpen slightly, and Chris realizes that the werewolf hadn't known the girl escaped.

“Clever girl,” he whispers softly and then Peter is silent.

Chris swears in disgust, and heads back upstairs.

He can hear Derek murmuring to Scott as he holds little Sadie. “...Malia's scent, remember? Her scent is strongest because she's the mother. Separate the scents. What else?”

Scott leans closer, almost burying his nose in the baby's neck. “Something like..black licorice.”

Derek nods. “Good. That's Hale pack. That tells you she's a born wolf. It would still be there, but much more faint if she were human.”

Scott sniffs again and the baby makes a noise like giggling.

“Something, warm and sweet, like a flower?”

Derek leans in and sniffs and then sets his jaw. “Jasmine. That's Kate.”

Chris frowns. “Malia and Kate make sense, but why does she smell like Hale?”

Lydia clears her throat. “Malia is Peter's daughter.” Her voice is quiet and guilty.

Chris sits down hard on the couch next to Melissa, and buries his face in his hands. _Of course..._

“That would explain it. And why she was so quick to recognize you as her Alpha.” Derek goes on, speaking to Scott, but Chris shuts him out while he tries to think through the implications here.

_Peter and Kate..._

Chris can't, he just can't. His brain can't go there.

Before he knows it, Chris is down in the basement again, fists flying over and over into Peter's face. It takes all Derek's strength to pull him off Peter, and hold him until he's regained his head.

Chris hasn't lost control like that in a very long time. Only Peter can ignite such fury in him. Only Peter ever has.

Chris takes a deep breath and nods to Derek. He's got hold of himself now.

Peter sits there, bruises healing already, eyes cold and distant. “Lydia.”

His voice is even and he tilts his head up at Chris. “Jealousy is a good color on you.”

Chris growls, literally _growls_ at Peter, but instead of going at him again, he turns away and stalks back up the stairs.

He grabs the birth certificate and reads it more carefully. Malia's birth date is on there as well. Chris does some math. “Fucking hell,” he says softly.

Melissa smacks his shoulder.

Chris shakes his head and looks at Scott. “May I hold her, Alpha McCall?”

Scott blinks up at him, and then shrugs. “Yeah, sure.”

Sadie is settled in Chris' arms and he stares down at her, as she blinks back up at him. Melissa smiles over his shoulder.

“She has such unusual eyes. It's like a green and golden mix, lighter than a hazel would be.”

Chris nods and strokes the faint wisps of hair on the baby's head.

“Well, little one, you have managed to bring yourself into one big mess of a family. Just wish I knew who your dad was. He has a right to know that you exist.”

Sadie sneezes and then scrunches up her face and starts to cry.

Scott is hovering suddenly and Chris shakes his head and hands her back. “I've never seen anyone as protective of a baby that's not theirs..” Both he and Melissa snap their heads around to look at Scott. His big brown eyes widen and he shakes his head wildly. “Oh no. No, I was never with Malia. Sadie just smells like family.”

Derek frowns at that, coming up the stairs, and moves close to Scott, sniffing Sadie again. The Alpha echoes his beta and they look so ridiculous standing there, that both Lydia and Melissa snicker.

“What _is_ that?” Scott mutters and Derek frowns. “It's like cinnamon, but not. Kinda vanill-y..?”

“Sounds like hazelnut,” Lydia opined, from where she is re-assembling Sadie's crib.

Scott meets Derek's eyes, and something like understanding flashes between them. “Hazelnut.”

The Alpha shoves the baby at his mother, and he and Derek take off running, bursting through the front door and vanishing.

Chris turns around, and Melissa is already on the phone. “I think you'd better get home, Sheriff.”

That's all the information Chris needs, and he grabs his weapons and heads to the Stilinski house.

As soon as Chris has left the building, Peter comes sauntering up the stairs.

Lydia and Melissa freeze.

“I'd like to hold my granddaughter,” he says mildly.

Melissa lifts her chin. “You're _not_ taking this baby.”

“Relax,” he says condescendingly. “I just want to hold her a minute.”

Peter could rip the baby from her arms, but he chooses not to. Melissa chooses to trust that he will keep his word. She slides Sadie into the werewolf's arms.

He nuzzles her cheek, runs the pads of his fingers along her neck, and then kisses the top of her head.

“Take care of him, kiddo.”

Peter flashes his steel blue eyes at the baby, who stares at him silently.

He returns her to Melissa, then turns away and strolls out through the front door.

Lydia stares after him thoughtfully.

-

By the time Chris gets to Stiles' house, the chaos is over.

Malia had attacked Stiles, who had apparently clubbed her with a baseball bat, and then hid in his closet, which at some point he had paneled in mountain ash.

Derek had ripped her to shreds. He'd been almost feral. Scott had to use the Alpha roar on him.

Now he's glaring daggers at Stiles, who is looking like he's going to be sick.

Chris eyes the smears of blood everywhere and then looks at Derek.

“Overboard much?”

The tips of Derek's ears turn red, and he spins on his heel and stalks towards the door, running smack dab into the Sheriff.

Who looks around and sighs. “Good thing I bought bleach.”

-

Chris and the Sheriff clean up the mess, while Stiles takes some sleeping pills and crashes in the spare room.

“How's he doing?”

The Sheriff shakes his head. “Not well.” He doesn't elaborate.

Chris decides not to tell them about his suspicions.

When he gets home, Lydia and Melissa have his guest room turned into a nursery.

They tell him about Peter. He shrugs it off.

He now knows why Peter was there, and why Peter wouldn't tell him anything.

_Oh the tangled webs we weave..._

_-_

Chris gets a few friends to handle the paperwork, and Sadie's birth certificate is re-filed, with all the correct names this time. Chris also has custody papers made up.

Sadie is all he has left.

He focuses on that. Chris doesn't think of the generations of secrets and betrayals that has led to this moment in time. He _can't_ think about it.

Because Chris has had his heart shattered so many times this last year, one more is going to break him.

And Sadie needs him.

-

When Sadie is two months old, Scott comes over and asks to talk to Chris. Alone.

Derek takes the baby. Chris is 95% sure that he's taking her to see Peter.

Scott tell Chris what happened to Stiles at Eichen House.

“He's not going to want her,” Scott finishes miserably. Chris nods in agreement.

Only the three of them know, and when he comes back, Derek promises not to tell Stiles unless he asks directly.

He never does.

-

When Sadie is six months old, Peter breaks into Chris' house.

Chris knows because the silent alarm on his third floor window goes off. Only one person would be sneaking into Sadie's room in the middle of the night.

Chris grabs his tranq gun and pads down the hallway.

Peter is just standing there watching her sleep.

Chris doesn't lower his gun.

“I love her, you know,” he says softly.

“I doubt you have the capability to love.”

Peter looks up at Chris. “I love her. I would have loved Malia, but I wasn't given the chance. I loved my sister, before she became Alpha.” He takes a step towards the hunter. “And I loved you.”

Chris aims the rifle at Peter's face. “Get out.”

The next day Sadie's window is sealed with mountain ash.

-

Chris assumes that she still sees Peter when the pack takes her, but he doesn't ask, doesn't want to know.

He doesn't want anything to do with Peter.

It'd be bad enough if he was just the guy who knocked up Chris' baby sister as a teenager, and subsequently ditched her, but Peter had been _his_ _boyfriend_ at the time.

He doesn't think about that during the day, but at night, his subconscious mind betrays him.

Chris dreams of golden summer days spent traipsing through the forest, sweet kisses from a dark haired boy, and the endless promise of the rest of their lives.

He wakes up to the proximity alarm going off again. It's the attic this time.

“Goddammit, Peter. Get the fuck out of my house.” Chris just yells from his bed.

He's given up. Every time he counters, Peter just finds a new way in.

All he does is stand there and watch Sadie sleep.

Chris rolls over but he doesn't go back to sleep. He turns on the video monitor and watches Peter watching the baby.

Peter reaches out and slides the pads of his fingers along the baby's cheek. “I never knew about your mother.”

He's whispering, and Chris doesn't _think_ this is a show for him, but he's never sure when it comes to Peter. “More precisely, my sister ripped the memory from my mind.”

Chris wonders if that's true.

“Someday, my little princess, I will tell you all about the family you've been born into, all the secrets that should have been given to your mother to give to you.”

Peter sighs and withdraws his hand.

“Of course, given that your grandmother is the one who took all that away from you..”

Peter pauses with a bitter chuckle. “She would hate to be called that. She was so proud of being young and beautiful. And so willing to use it as a weapon. That, though, little love, was your great-grandfather's fault.”

Peter leans down and kisses her forehead. “And lets not even talk about your father's issues.”

That alarms Chris, and he's in the doorway to the baby's room before he can really process.

Peter pats Sadie one last time and looks up. “I was wondering if you were listening.”

 _I should have known._ Chris turns on his heel and walks back into his bedroom.

Peter follows.

Chris picks up his gun.

“Why do you keep coming here, Peter?”

Peter leans against Chris' door frame. “I'm here for the view.”

Chris glances down at himself, wearing only boxer briefs and rolls his eyes. “Leave.”

Naturally, Peter takes a step forward. “It's true you know.”

Chris shrugs. “I don't care.”

It's true, he's got his feelings about Peter so compartmentalized, so shoved back and locked down, that all Chris can feel is apathy.

“You did once.”

Chris is silent. He thinks about taking Sadie on an extended vacation.

“They took the memory away from her too. She found out. That's why she burned my family.”

Chris sighs. “That doesn't change a damn thing, Peter. You got my little sister pregnant. That's the part that I can't get past.”

Peter doesn't apologize or explain himself, that's not his style.

So Chris is not surprised when he looks up to see an empty doorway. Not surprised at all, but disappointed.

He has a feeling that he'll never find out why Peter went after his sister.

-

“She came after me.” Peter is talking to his granddaughter again.

Chris pretends that he doesn't listen to these late night one-sided conversations. He doesn't go confront Peter again.

“Your Papa Chris had gone out of town on a hunting trip. Your Grandma Kate was jealous of him, and she always wanted what he had. So she spun her web of lies and deceit, and caught herself an insecure, possessive werewolf. She told me about the boy that Papa Chris used to meet when he was supposedly hunting.”

Chris closes his eyes tightly. _Dean. She told him about Dean_.

Every time Chris thought he'd learned all his family's secrets, there was another layer of dishonesty below it.

The next morning, Chris takes the ash from Sadie's window.


	2. Chapter 2

Peter joins them sometimes at the park. He sits down at a bench and watches Chris help Sadie down the slide, watches the wind ruffle her sable curls, and the way the golden-green eyes sparkle when Chris catches her after she tries to run from him.

He watches Chris too, more covertly, but the hunter notices. He can feel when Peter's eyes are on him, can _hear_ him thinking about the two of them together.

Chris ignores it. It's never going to happen.

-

When Sadie is just over a year old, Stiles knocks on Chris' door.

“I want to see her.”

Chris silently steps back and lets him in, but his heart is seizing with fear. He's been dreading this day for a long time.

The little girl is sleeping, all curled around her stuffed wolf. (Scott bought it for her.)

Stiles watches her sleep a long, long while.

Chris sees why everyone is so concerned about him. This is not the Stiles-that-was.

He remembers flailing and loud sarcasm. This boy is a silent shadow.

Sadie wakes up slowly, eyelids fluttering and then sliding open. Her eyes have stayed that strange, unearthly golden-green.

 _This is it_ , Chris thinks. How could anyone resist those eyes or that sleepy smile, or those dark mussed curls? He braces himself, but Stiles just continues to look.

“She looks like Derek,” he mumbles softly.

Sadie climbs up on the bars of her crib, tilts her head and stares back. And then her eyes glow supernatural golden.

Stiles makes a choked sound.

Chris starts to explain the game she plays with Derek and Scott, how they flash their werewolf eyes at each other, but Stiles takes a step forward, and his eyes flash silver.

Chris' words die in his throat. _What the hell is that?_

Stiles steps forward and scoops her up, hugging her gently. Then he turns and hands her to Chris. Sadie buries her nose in Chris' neck.

“I'd like to see her again.”

Chris nods once.

_Whatever he is, he's still her father._

-

The Stilinski house is added to her rotation. She's with Chris three nights a week.

She has things at the McCall's and at Derek's new apartment. They all give up some things so that Stiles and the Sheriff can have Pack scent.

She's with her father when Peter breaks into Chris' house again.

Chris figures Peter isn't used to the new schedule, so he just yells at the attic.

“She's at the Stilinski's, jackass.”

And then Chris turns over and closes his eyes to go back to sleep.

“I'm not here for Sadie.” The soft voice comes from the door way.

Chris' eyes fly open and his heart stutters. He knows Peter hears it, because there's a smug chuckle in the darkness, and then dim light bleeds into the room from the hallway, as the lamp out there is flicked on.

“Go away, Peter,” Chris says tiredly.

Peter doesn't listen, because he's _Peter_ , and Chris can _feel_ him coming closer, though he doesn't make a sound.

Chris reaches under his pillow as the bed dips, and before Peter can lay a hand on him, Chris has a pistol pointed right at the wolf's glowing blue eyes.

Those eyes focus on the hunter, never looking away as Peter parts his lips, and slides them around the barrel of the gun.

Chris goes very, very still as he watches Peter move his head back and forth, watches the metal cylinder slide between the werewolf's lip, and absolutely, totally _does not_ think about those lips wrapped around his dick doing the exact same thing.

Only he does, and it reacts, and Peter notices, because he shifts and before Chris can move, the wolf's hand, claws extended, is resting over his stirring cock. Peter applies some pressure and slides his hand with the same rhythm as his mouth, and Chris finds himself _very_ interested.

But this is _not_ happening, and so he tears his gun from Peter's mouth and scoots himself away from the claws of the wolf.

He braces himself for another assault, but Peter sits back on the bed and tilts his head.

“Always such _strong_ convictions, Christopher.”

“You know why this can't happen.”

Peter tilts his head, stretching out his neck, and Chris can _still_ feel what it's like to bite down right where the neck meets shoulder, knows just how Peter will arch into it and beg for more.

“No, I really don't.”

Peter unwinds himself from the bed, stalking closer to Chris, who lifts his gun again.

Peter calmly reaches out and runs the tip of his claw along Chris' jawline.

“Even when I couldn't remember who you were, I missed you. I _always_ knew something had been taken from me.”

Chris' voice is strained. “Peter, I wish I could trust you.”

Peter tilts his head and then smirks. “Trust my rage.”

Chris barks out a surprised laugh. “Did you just?”

Peter steps back out of Chris' space. “I understand him. More than you know.”

Chris snorts.

Peter's mouth tightens at the hunter's derision. “You obviously don't remember my parents.”

He heads to the doorway and then pauses. “All of that is behind us, Christopher, and it can't be changed. _I_ think we can move ahead together. And I'm not going to give up on you.”

Chris doesn't go back to sleep after Peter leaves.

He sits up all night and thinks, about the past, and about the future.

-

This time it's Chris who breaks in.

Peter's not home, of course, it's not that kind of visit.

Chris leaves an envelope on Peter's coffee table.

Inside is an old polaroid, something he's kept for a long time.

 

Peter comes to him that night.

Chris is still up, sitting in his kitchen, drinking. About a third of the bottle is gone.

Peter flings the picture down on the table. Chris takes a moment to study it.

_Two boys with happy smiles, heads pressed together to fit into the image, the brilliant leaves of autumn framing them._

He looks up at the wolf looming over him.

Chris clears his throat, “There are a few ground rules-”

“No.” Peter interrupts him, and Chris blinks and narrows the ice-blue eyes.

“Now just a-”

“No, Christopher. No rules. No limits.”

Peter grabs the table and shoves it to the side.

Chris watches the photograph flutter to the floor and then looks up at Peter, who is stalking forward, every line of his body telegraphing his intent.

Chris studies this dangerous predator coming towards him, and he is afraid, not for his body but for his heart. But the hunter has never let fear rule him, and he's already come to his decision, and so he stands, pushing his chair back, and reaches for Peter.

The werewolf's touch is gentle, surprisingly, as he curls his hand around the back of Chris' neck.

Peter leans in slowly, as if he is trying to not startle his prey, and Chris would laugh at the thought but it's perhaps all too apt, as he feels pinned by the weight of Peter's regard.

Peter kisses him ever-so-softly at first, just a brush of lips, and Chris closes his eyes so he doesn't have to look at the depth of emotion shimmering in Peter's eyes. Because it's too much, too intense, and Chris _cannot_ deal with that right now.

He focuses on touch, the feel of Peter's hand at his neck grounding him, and his own hands grasping tightly to the fabric of Peter's shirt, like it's a lifeline.

Peter's next kiss is gentle too, a light press of lips to Chris' forehead, and the hunter lifts his chin to look quizzically at Peter, as the wolf pulls back slightly.

And then Chris' breath hitches in his throat, as he watches the younger man sink gracefully to his knees, and tug the zip of the hunter's jeans down.

He tangles a hand in Peter's hair as the werewolf frees Chris' stirring length from his underwear. That hand tightens into a fist, pulling the younger man's hair slightly as his lips wraps around Chris' dick.

“Jesus _fucking_ Christ.”

Chris can't help himself as he watches Peter swallow him down, swearing again as he feels the tip pressing against the back of the younger mans' throat. “Fuck, _Peter_...”

Peter curls his hands around Chris' hips, holding him tightly, and he's going to have bruises there in the morning.

Right now Chris could care less, can barely even _think_ as he watches his cock slide between Peter's lips.

Peter turns his gaze up to meet the older man's, then pulls his hands away from Chris' hips, letting them settle on his thighs.

Chris is being given clear permission to fuck the werewolf's mouth, to take charge here, and he doesn't waste it.

The hunter holds Peter by his hair and thrusts harshly in, over and over, then holding with his dick deep in Peter's throat. He watches Peter's eyes, holds that gaze while he denies the younger man breath, and then abruptly pulls out completely.

Chris lets Peter catch his breath, and then points him towards the bedroom.

“Bed. Now.”

Peter strips off his clothing and heads down the hallway. Chris drops his jeans, and then follows, but he can't resist reaching out and playfully groping that perfect ass on the way.

Peter obviously hadn't been expecting it, because he startles and knocks a lamp over.

Chris stifles a laugh, and then shoves Peter up against the wall, pressing their bodies flush together. He leans in to growl in Peter's ear. “You're paying for that.”

Peter starts to say something, no doubt obnoxious and bratty, but Chris slides his thigh between Peter's parted legs, and crushes his lips against the other man's.

It's very, _very_ difficult to pull away from Peter, but he does, shoving him backwards towards the bedroom. Peter, nimble as always, doesn't stumble but backpedals gracefully, and Chris takes a few more steps forward, shoving the younger man onto the bed.

Chris tugs his shirt over his head, ignoring the flush of warmth at the way Peter's gaze rakes over him.

“Rule one,” Chris says as he advances towards the bed. “You stay.”

Peter arches a brow.

“You stay the night so I can wake up to you in my arms. You stay so that we can have a life together. You stay so that we can raise Sadie.”

Chris crawls onto the bed, stretching out next to Peter. “You make a serious commitment, or you leave now.”

Peter considers. “And if I leave?”

Chris gets very serious. “If you leave, don't come back.”

Peter considers and then nods finally. “But you're going to have to get new curtains. Those monstrosities in the living room and kitchen have got to go.”

Chris sighs and shakes his head. “I'm already reconsidering.”

Peter smirks and reaches out to trail a claw along Chris' collarbone, and then down his chest and stomach, before tracing the line of dark hair that begins at his navel. He pulls his claws back to slide his hand against the obvious bulge in Chris' underwear.

Chris can't help but arch into that pressure, but he's not going to let Peter run this show. He pushes the werewolf's hand away and then lifts himself up, climbing onto Peter to pin him to the bed.

He straddles Peter's hips, letting his eyes roam over Peter as the werewolf tucks his hands behind his head. Chris reaches out and trails his hand along Peter's flexed bicep, along the curve of his jaw, down his neck and chest, touching and claiming everywhere.

“Rule Two,” he says after a minute, causing Peter to roll his eyes. Chris grabs his chin and forces Peter to look into his eyes. “You belong to me.”

Peter's eyes flash that supernatural blue for just a second, and Chris can't tell if that's a good sign or a bad one.

“Nobody else gets to touch you, gets you have you like this, gets to _fuck_ you.”

Peter clears his throat to say something, but just ends up nodding.

Chris spends the next few minutes kissing every place that he's touched, claiming Peter all over again with his lips. Peter is hard and already leaking by the time Chris takes him into his mouth, hands holding the werewolf's hips down.

It's been a while for Peter, and he doesn't last long, barely managing to gasp out Chris' name before he's coming in the older man's mouth.

Chris swallows the bitter fluid down, licking his lips and then laving his tongue along Peter's rapidly softening length. He lifts up and smirks at the way Peter is sprawled and relaxed.

The werewolf is usually on edge, on guard for attack. Now, he looks halfway to passed out.

Chris stretches out beside him once again, hand idly trailing along Peter's side.

“Rule Three.”

Peter groans and throws his arm over his eyes. “I'm very bad at rules, Christopher.”

“Communication. No hiding things. No secrets.”

Chris' hand smooths down Peter's hip and cups his ass, before sliding a finger between his cheeks to tease at the younger man's tight pucker.

“Christopher...” Peter's voice trails off as Chris' finger crooks slightly and presses just a little in. He takes a deep breath and tries to ignore what the older man is doing. “This is blackmail.”

“Technically, it's coercion.”

Chris bites Peter's shoulder hard, before he reaches for the bottle he has stashed in the bedside table.

He notices that the werewolf doesn't agree to this one, but lets it slide for now. Half of Peter's _personality_ is secrets and lies. That one would take time.

Chris slicks up two fingers on his left hand, and slides them between Peter's cheeks, running a finger around the edge of his hole a few times before dipping it in ever so slightly. He teases Peter for a while, only sliding his middle finger fully in, when Peter starts pushing needily back against him.

“Look at you, Peter, so greedy to have something inside you.” Chris' voice is low and rough

Peter's only response is a soft growl deep in his throat.

Chris twists his finger, then slides it back out, adding the second. At the same time, he wraps his right hand around Peter's bared throat, watching the wolf's face as Chris fucks him with his fingers.

“You look fucking _gorgeous_ like this, Peter, opened up on my fingers, your whole body begging for more.”

Peter's dick is filling out again, and Chris speaks low into the younger man's ear.

“I want to watch you play with yourself while I get you ready for me.”

Peter groans but obeys, sliding his hand down and wrapping it around his dick. He matches his strokes to Chris' fingers, while he listens to the hunter whispering filth into his ear.

“You want it so _bad_ , don't you? I want to hear it, Peter, tell me what you want.”

Chris smirks as Peter's pleas are whispered into the dark room, and he's so fucking _hard_ right now, listening to that, watching his fingers fuck into the werewolf as he jacks himself off, that he can't even remember the rest of the rules he'd planned to make Peter agree to.

Chris' hand leaves his neck and the fingers pull out. Peter whimpers almost inaudibly as Chris moves away.

“Hands and knees,” the older man orders, and he can see a shiver run through Peter's body at the commanding tone.

Peter doesn't get up quick enough, so Chris slaps his ass hard.

“Move.”

Peter moves.

Chris coats his length with the lube, and then presses the blunt end against Peter' hole, pushing in just a little and then withdrawing. Peter whines and Chris chuckles softly.

“Patience, sweetheart.”

The werwolf snarls at that, but Chris doesn't give in. He keeps teasing, only going deeper in increments, until they're both trembling with holding back.

Finally, Chris is all the way in, bottoms out inside Peter, and it's just as _intense_ as it's always been, and he needs to take a moment.

“ _Chris_.”

Peter's voice is strangled and Chris shifts his hips and smirks down at him. “There something you need, _sweetheart_?”

“Christopher.”

A little less need, a little more annoyance that time.

Chris rocks his hips, just a little.

“Tell me, Peter. What do you need?” Chris is smug and almost purring the words out.

“Damn it, Christopher. I _need_ you to fuck me.”

“That's my good boy.” And Chris can't miss the way Peter's body shivers at that, or the way he clenches around Chris.

Chris fucks him in earnest then, rough and hard, slamming into him, while keeping up a continuous string of praises. He briefly wonders why _that_ is working for Peter, given that he's got the highest opinion of himself of anyone Chris has ever met.

Chris puts it out of his mind after a moment's thought. What matters is that it _is_ working, and he reaches around to slide his still-lubricated hand along Peter's rock hard dick.

Peter bucks beneath him and he gasps out Chris' name again. And whines when the older man pulls his hand away.

Chris decides he likes the sound of that. He plans to make Peter whimper and whine and _beg_.He shifts, spreading his legs and angling up a bit more, and is rewarded with Peter's cry, muffled by the bedspread, as he finds that bundle of nerves deep inside.

“Head up, boy. I want to hear you.”

Peter lifts his face from the bed, bracing his forehead on his hands.

Chris has got the angle perfect now and fucks into Peter, still telling him how good he is, how fucking _gorgeous_ he looks like this, and it's all true.

Peter does everything Chris asks, and the sounds he's making is almost enough to send Chris over the edge.

The werewolf slides his hand towards his angry, leaking dick but Chris stops him.

“Oh no, Peter. I want you to come like this. Untouched, while I fuck you.”

Peter moans low at that and curls his claws into the bedspread, piercing and tearing the fabric.

Chris slams into him a few more times and he can feel Peter tense, can hear the growling rising in the wolf's chest, and he croons encouragement.

“That's it Peter, my good boy, come for me.”

Peter's body arches beneath Chris, and his hips stutter as he spills on the bed, calling out Chris' name and shooting stripes of white over the torn fabric.

Chris fucks him steadily through his orgasm, until Peter suddenly relaxes.

The hunter snaps his hips forward a handful of times, before he shoves himself fully inside the werwolf and holds, pulsing inside the younger man.

When he's finished, Chris takes a deep shaky breath, and then slowly slides out, eliciting a groan from Peter, who shifts to his side.

Chris turns and lays down on his back, just letting the languor overtake him. After a moment, Peter turns and then scoots closer, resting his head on Chris' chest.

Ice blue eyes turn down to consider the younger man a moment, before he presses a soft kiss to the top of Peter's head.

Chris memorizes this moment, this feeling. Such intimacies are fleeting and not easy to come by, not when being open and vulnerable is antithetical to your very being.

It's barely a minute before Peter is slipping away to the shower. Chris watches him go.

He has the feeling that he may have made a mistake.

Would Peter actually stay now that he's gotten what he came for? Was he playing Chris in some way that the hunter can't see yet? His mind reels with question after question now that he's coming down from his post-coital high.

Chris pushes off of the bed and heads upstairs to that bathroom, wetting a washcloth and cleaning himself off. He pulls on a pair of pajama pants, then goes to the kitchen and sets it to rights.

He brings the discarded jeans to toss in the hamper in his bedroom, and finds Peter perched on the edge of his bed, wearing only a pair of Chris' boxer-briefs.

Chris can admit that he likes Peter wearing his clothes. To himself anyways.

Peter watches him and Chris tilts his head, stepping forward.

The younger man slides his arms around Chris' waist and rests his cheek against Chris' midsection.

“You may not believe this,” his voice is slightly muffled, “but I have no idea what to do now.”

Chris looks over Peter's shoulder at the bed.

“Well, first, you're going to make the bed with new sheets since you destroyed these ones.”

Peter snorts. “They were cheap anyways. We'll use my sheets in the future. I had them imported.”

Chris smiles where Peter can't see him. _Of course he did._

“Good, get to it. I need to get the kid's room ready. Scott will be bringing her home in the morning.”

“Home,” Peter repeats softly, as Chris is leaving the room.

Chris thinks about the last time Peter had a home.


	3. Chapter 3

Peter stays the night, and Chris gets to wake up to the feel of his arms around the man he loves.

Chris kisses Peter awake, and they make love slowly and tenderly.

They shower together, too, and it's all everything Chris wanted, but he's wary.

He's still waiting for that other shoe to drop.

Scott brings Sadie home and spends ten minutes describing every little thing that she did to the two of them. If he's surprised to see Peter there, he doesn't give any sign of it.

Sadie goes to her grandfather easily enough, giving credence to Chris' suspicion that the Pack was keeping him in the baby's life.

Scott ducks outside and comes back with a massive armful of shopping bags.

“So, I mentioned that she seems to be moving to the next size up, and well, Lydia went shopping.”

Chris eyes the bags of clothing. “She's got plenty.”

“Nonsense,” Peter puts in. “Some of the stuff you put her in is just revolting. At least Lydia has _taste_.” He balances Sadie on one hip and starts digging through the bags.

Scott arches a brow and looks at Chris, who shrugs.

-

Every time Chris comes home, something else has changed.

First, it's the sheets, then the curtains, then Peter has rearranged every room in the house.

Sadie's room has been made over with everything new, and now, he's insisting that she have all of her food organic, so the kitchen is filled with new appliances.

Chris lets all of this go, because he wants Peter to feel at home, but when he starts messing with Sadie's schedule, well, that's something that Chris can't let stand.

Of course, neither of the two of them are the best communicators, and they both get violent when they're angry.

And that's how Chris finds himself holding Peter by the back of his neck against a kitchen cabinet, one arm twisted up behind his back.

Chris wipes his cheek on the upper part of his sleeve, making a face at the blood that comes away. _Fucking werewolf claws._

He reaches around and grabs the front of Peter's shirt, turning him so that he can look into Peter's eyes. Chris starts to say something trite like, 'my house, my rules', but as he looks into Peter's eyes, the hunter doesn't see anger.

No, those gorgeous eyes only darken like that for one reason. Chris slides his foot forward, so that his thigh is pressing against Peter crotch, and yes, he's right.

Just like that, it clicks for Chris. He suddenly becomes calm, icy cold expression descending and he releases Peter, stepping back and crossing his arms.

“There will be no alterations to her schedule.”

There's no rancor, just matter-of-factness, and then Chris turns on his heel, leaving a confused, and very turned on, werewolf behind him.

“Fuck,” Peter mutters and grabs the nearest thing to hand and throws it across the room, stalking out the back door to the sound of shattering glass.

Olive oil drips down the front of the fridge.

-

Peter hasn't come back by dusk, and now Melissa is late bringing Sadie home.

Chris waits a half hour before calling her. When he gets no answer, he calls Scott. When Scott doesn't answer, he calls the Sheriff on the way to his SUV.

The Sheriff pulls up just as Chris does, lights and siren blasting. Chris throws himself out of his car and rushes through the front door, with the Sheriff on his tail.

The house is empty.

 

Chris kicks a chair and swears loudly.

“Such _language_ from a man raising a little one.”

Both Chris and the Sheriff instantly aim their guns at the source of the voice, but the doorway is empty.

Chris narrows his eyes. His hand slides into his pocket and pulls out a small canister. He tears the top off with his teeth and tosses the contents at the doorway. There's an audible hiss, and the air shimmers. “Clever, clever man. Let me guess.”

A hand reaches through out of nowhere, one long finger swiping along the dust and then retreating. “Iron and silver shavings, rock salt...and what's that last one? Ah, yes. Wolfsbane.”

The figure comes through the shimmer, head down, and Chris studies him.

He is tall, at least six foot, and by the breadth of his shoulders, a man grown. He's completely encased in black. The leather duster he's wearing brushes the tops of his boots, and his hands are also leather clad at the end of the long sleeves. Black hair is slicked back over a pale forehead, and as he lifts his chin, Chris sees silver eyes settle on the Sheriff.

The man smirks slowly, and the Sheriff takes a step back. " _Jesus_..."

“Hey dad.”

 

Chris shoots him in the shoulder. The bullet vanishes about four inches away from its target.

Not-Stiles slowly turns his glittering silver gaze away from the Sheriff, and studies Chris like he's a particularly interesting bug.

“You must be a _hunter_. I haven't seen ones of those since the Purge.”

Chris snarls. “Where's the baby?”

“Ah yes, little Sadie. She's right on the other side of that door. Sort of." The man waves his gloved hands expansively.  "You see, gentlemen, I have this specialty-”

“Pocket dimensions.” Chris has never been so glad to hear Peter's voice in his life.

 

The effect on Not-Stiles is far more dramatic. He takes a step forward, and the silver eyes go wide with shock. “ _Peter?!_ ”

The werewolf is all smug arrogance as he stands there with his hands in his pockets. “I gather it's been a while.”

Not-Stiles walks towards Peter, and Chris studies the way he moves.

His every step is self-assured, confidence that their Stiles only had when he was possessed. But this is not borrowed, this man is not carrying around a demon in his head. No, it's obvious that this man is a warrior.

The stranger reaches out a gloved hand to cup Peter's cheek, leather creaking as he tilts the shorter man's gaze up to him.

Not-Stiles looks down into the werewolf's eyes a long minute, and then the silver eyes flash. Peter's flash blue in response and the stranger's eyebrows lift. “Still that beautiful blue, hm? Was it Paige here too?”

The beta doesn't answer.

Leather gloves curl around the back of Peter's neck and before Chris understands what's happening, Not-Stiles has crushed his lips to Peter's. Chris shoots him again, unloads an _entire_ fucking clip at the back of his head, before pulling his machete and striding towards the man. Not one of the bullets find their mark, the stranger doesn't even so much as _look_ Chris' way.

The man in black pulls away from Peter, and the werewolf looks stunned and dazed. Chris swings his blade at the man's neck. It sticks and holds four inches from its intended goal. Not-Stiles gestures and the blade gets cold, so cold that the hunter can't hold onto it, and he is forced to drop it to the floor, where it shatters.

“ _This_ Peter must belong to you, Hunter.” Not-Stiles voice is soft as he rubs his leather clad thumb along Peter's lower lip. The beta still looks shaken.

 

Abruptly, the man claps his hands together and turns to face the three men. “Pardon me for the interruption, I haven't seen Peter for many years. Allow me to introduce myself. I'm Rue and I'm a mage.” The sing-song tone is indicative of an AA meeting.

“Rue?” The Sheriff's voice is shaky. “Short for Rupert.” His eyes look haunted.

“Well, done, dad! Mom always did say I got my smarts from you.”

“Out of curiosity,” Peter drawls, seemingly back in control of himself, “how did I die?” Rue winks at him, then suddenly looks over his shoulder and take a few steps back towards his portal.

There's a crash of glass and Scott and Derek come bursting into the house from opposite directions. Rue arches a brow and looks between them as they snarl at him.

“Teenagers are very dramatic, aren't they?”

The silver eyes look Derek over lingeringly, like a caress, and the werewolf shivers as the man smiles slowly and predatorily. “Oh baby, are you a sight for sore eyes, all innocent and unbroken.”

Derek looks confused. “Stiles?”

Peter saunters over and settles his hand on his nephew's shoulder. “This is Rue, Stiles from a parallel world.”

Rue cocks his head. “What's a Stiles?”

“That would be me.”

 

Rue snaps his hand around and lets out a blast of energy, freezing cold, directly at the source of the voice. It splashes against something invisible.

Rue sighs. “Well that explains all the anomalies.”

“Derek.” Peter says suddenly.

“What?” Derek cranes his neck to eye his uncle, but Peter's looking at Rue.

(Behind the mage's back, Chris gestures at Scott, pointing to him and Derek, and then to the man in black.)

“Very good, my love.” Rue beams as if pleased by a particularly precocious child. “Derek killed you for the Alpha power _we_ killed Talia for. Don't worry, darling.” The silver eyes glint as they look into Derek's. “He paid for it.”

“Wow, even _I_ monologue as an Evil villain.” Stiles' tone is derisive.

Rue winks at him. “Wait til you hear the bit about your daughter.” Stiles glares impotently.

The mage turns to Derek and forces the eye flare from him too. He sighs at the steel beta blue. “Don't tell me _Talia_ is still the Alpha here?”

“No. I am.” Scott steps forward, and Rue tilts his head. “You don't look like a Hale.”

(Stiles points at his dad, then himself, and jerks his head at the portal. The Sheriff nods.)

“That's because I'm not.”

“You didn't grow up with Scott McCall?” Stiles' voice is curious.

Rue smiles widely, a genuine smile. “Little Scotty! You moved away when your parents split. It's been so long.” He looks the Alpha over slowly, like his gaze is fondling Scott. “Boy, did you ever grow up well...”

Peter is chuckling. “Well I can see what we had in common.” Rue's hand twitches, and he looks like he wants to reach out to Peter. “We had _everything_ in common. We'd been together since I was fourteen.”

“So you grew up without Scott, but with Peter. I'd say that explains just about everything we need to know about you.” Derek's voice is flat, and he glares out over crossed arms.

“Oh I _enjoyed_ beating the sass out of you, pet.”

Derek growls, and Stiles moves to his side. “Yeah, we get it. You're evil, you have a great backstory and a terrible plan. Just tell me where the _fuck_ my daughter is.”

The silver gaze goes to Stiles. “You only have to answer one simple question, and then I'll let you see her. What's the name of Sadie's mother?”

 

Stiles glances to Scott and to Chris, both of whom shrug in confusion. They're thinking the same thing. Why is this man curious about the were-coyote, and how can it hurt them to give the information up?

“Malia.” Peter answers, with a bored tone. “My daughter Malia.”

The sheer amount of emotions that dance across Rue's face is amazing, and Stiles wonders if _he's_ always that easy to read. “And that explains why she's the only one,” Rue whispers to himself, and waves his hand. The invisible place where he had stepped through becomes opaque, a window to another place.

 

Melissa is in there with Sadie, and she smiles wearily as they stare at her.

Chris breathes a sigh of relief. Sadie hasn't been harmed. _Yet._

(He looks around as the conversation continues, catching everyone's eyes and waiting for a nod to indicate they know their task.)

Rue is quietly studying the older wolf. “Who was she, Peter?” There's an edge to his voice and Stiles twitches as he recognizes it. “Are you _jealous_? Dude, that's not even _your_ Peter.” Rue extends his fist and twists it, and the Sheriff cries out in pain and collapses.

While Scott and Stiles rush over to the Sheriff, Rue walks to Peter and reaches out to hold his chin again. “Who. Was. She?” If Peter is worried about anything at all, he doesn't show it. “Kate Argent.”

Rue recoils slightly. “A relative of Gerard Argent, I'm assuming.”

Chris' eyes sharpen but he says nothing. Peter inclines his head as much as he can with his face held in that steel grip. “She was.”

“And your Malia?”

“Buried next to her mother.”

Rue releases Peter and turns to the others. “Well, that makes this easy then.” He claps the leather covered hands together. “I'm going to have to take Sadie.”

 

Peter's claws are out and he's attacking Rue almost before he has the thought. He hits that barrier a few inches away though, and cannot break through.

“Peter, my Peter.” Rue turns back around. “Don't worry, baby. I'm going to have to take you too.”

“Over my dead body,” Chris advances on Rue. “Peter is _mine_.”

Peter should probably be worried, but he's kind of enjoying having two of the most dangerous men he's ever met fighting over him. (Okay more than _kind of_. He makes no excuses for what gets him going.)

“Hunter,” Rue snorts. “You have _no_ idea how many of your kind I've wiped off my planet. And that was just the beginning of the Purge.”

“They're both mine, and there's no way I'm letting you take them from me.”

If Peter were a teenage girl, he'd be sighing over Chris right now. As it is, he has to discretely adjust himself. (Hey, Stiles isn't the only one with inappropriate danger boners okay?)

Rue opens his fist and the Sheriff begins to breathe again. He turns to Chris and repeats the movement. Chris feels like his lungs are being squeezed, and he can't get enough air.

“Dude, how did you even know about her?” Stiles attracts Rue's attention with the question, and the man turns to his younger doppelganger.

“Funny story, _Stiles_. Demons don't die when they're exorcised. They go right back to Hell. Which is actually a pocket dimension, my particular area of expertise if you'll recall.  I've actually been there.” Rue preens just a bit. “And they talk. They talk to _me_. Do you know how _rare_ it is that a demon can get close enough to a lycan to get her pregnant? Let's just say I was _very_ impressed, with you sweet boy. And not likely to forget the story, when I needed the blood of a very powerful creature.”

Chris has caught his breath. “She's just a baby!”

Rue resumes squeezing the hunter's lungs while watching him coldly. “She's descended from a union of the Hale line, a very special breed of werewolves by the way, and the most powerful magic user who ever lived – that would be you, with assistance from a demon.” Rue turns to Stiles briefly. “Her blood will save my world.”

Chris falls to the ground and Rue stands over him, smirking.

“Now,” the hunter croaks out, and Scott and Derek move to attack Rue, while Stiles and the Sheriff move towards Melissa and Sadie.

 

Rue lets Chris alone to face the two wolves.

He can only deal with one at a time, and he's been _waiting_ to hurt Derek. The mage extends a stream of his ice cold energy at the wolf, and Derek cries out in pain as it burns into his skin. Behind him Scott furiously tries to make it through the invisible defensive shield.

Stiles cautiously touches the shimmering window to another realm and breathes a sigh of relief that it recognizes his touch as Rue's. He reaches through and Melissa presses Sadie into his arms. He holds the baby tight while she giggles.

Across the room, Chris is back on his feet, stabbing at the mage with a solid iron fireplace poker, searching for a weakness in that forcefield.

Stiles pulls Melissa through the otherworldly wall just as Scott pushes through Rue's magical barrier, and rakes his claws across the mage's back. The claws pierce the leather and he abruptly ceases torturing Derek to spin.

“That's _impossible_. No wolf can get through that!” He puts his hand on Scott's shoulder, and the Alpha cries out at the burning, freezing pain. But Scott McCall is made of tougher stuff and he manages to dig his claws into the man's gut. “Ever heard of a True Alpha?”

The Sheriff and Melissa are rushing out the door with Sadie, Peter is dragging Chris out too, over his very loud protests.

Rue takes a hacking breath and then he rips a glove off and wraps his finger around Scott's wrist. Scott yelps, actually _yelps_ in pain and jerks his arm back. The skin is blackened and brittle where the mage's hand touched. "No, Scotty, do tell me about _True_ Alphas..."

Stiles feels nauseous, and gags a bit when he sees Rue's hands. They're black and swollen, and due to a previous obsession with frostbite (back when his dad would yell at him to wear a hat in winter or his ears would fall off), Stiles knows exactly what that is.

Rue looks at his hand a moment, seeing Stiles' gaze. “It started when I lost Peter. Mages need anchors, too, you know. Otherwise, the magic controls you.”

Derek and Scott both jump at the man, but he closes his eyes and a circle of razor sharp shards of ice pierce them both as they fly backward.

The barrier around Stiles stops him from getting hit, but that is literally all the magic he knows how to do. And only because Deaton insisted on teaching him how to defend himself.

Rue opens his eyes, the hand that is still gloved pressed against his stomach, holding his wound. “Desperate times, y'know?” The mage backpedals towards the pocket dimension, and Stiles rushes him desperately. Because he's just realized that he can't let this man get away. They reach the shimmer at the same time, and Stiles grabs the lapels of Rue's coat. “You're not getting away. You're going to stay here so I can watch you die.”

Rue laughs. “That's my boy.” And then he shocks Stiles by darting in and pressing his lips to the younger version of himself.

Rue's lips are cool, but he obviously knows what he's doing because Stiles finds himself responding. He has just enough time to think about the fact that his first kiss from a boy, is from himself, before Stiles is flying backward. His head is swimming as he tries to turn to see Rue.

“I'll be back for her, Stiles. Her blood is the only thing that will save my world.” He steps back through the portal and it collapses in on itself.

Stiles curls into a ball and throws his hands over his ears as the pocket dimension explodes, taking the McCall house with it.


	4. Chapter 4

Peter and Chris are outside the window watching. Chris is fuming because _he should be in there._

Peter won't let him go, in fact still has a hand on his shoulder.

“He's dangerous, Christopher.”

Chris growls. “So am I.”

Peter doesn't feel fear very often, but he's afraid now.

Because he's always known what Stiles could be capable of, if he had the power. And less of a moral compass.

This alternate Stiles has the power, with only Peter as his guide. Peter is self-aware enough to know that it's a lethal combination. _Also, incredibly alluring._

And that's when Not-Stiles kisses actual Stiles and Peter lofts both brows. And shifts in place because _yes please_.

He can feel Chris looking at him and looks over innocently. “What?”

Chris snorts and turns back to watch the confrontation.

Peter smirks and rubs his thumb along Chris' shoulder, but then he sees Stiles go flying and shoves Chris down, covering the hunter with his body.

He feels the skin tear off his back with the explosion, bringing him memories of burning alive, before Peter passes out on top of his mate.

\- - - - -

“Check and mate.”

Peter leans his lanky body back, triumphant in his victory.

“Dammit, Hale. Why do I even play you?”

Peter smirks. “Because I'm the only one you can't beat.”

“You're also an asshole.”

“Goes with the territory, Finstock.”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever. Fine, you win. I'll bring my econ notes over tomorrow morning after lacrosse practice.”

“You have practice on Sat morning? Glad I'm not a jock.”

“You'd get broken in half, toothpick.”

“Good thing I'm so pretty then, cupcake.” Peter winks at the other boy and saunters out.

-

Half an hour later, he's still sitting in the rain, forgotten by his father again.

He'd watched the rest of the chess club get their rides home. From behind the corner of the school, of course, Peter Hale had his pride.

He also has his family's rules. He has to be a mile away from the school before he can shift.

Peter is nothing if not lazy. He's not interested in walking a damn mile as a human.

So he waits, and hopes that someone will recall that he's supposed to be picked up today.

Cheerleaders come around the corner, and Peter ducks back even further into shade. He'd prefer to avoid their regard as well.

Unfortunately, he turns around to see Chris Argent leaning against the wall behind him.

Watching silently.

_No human should be be that quiet._

Peter recovers control of himself and dons his armor of laconic sarcasm.

“Argent.”

Chris stalks forward, and Peter absolutely, 100% _does not_ shiver at the sheer leonine grace of the older boy.

At least Peter is taller, so Chris has to look up slightly as he comes close.

Which he does.

He looks up and then down, _real_ slow, and then leans in, voice dark, and Peter _doesn't_ think that is sexy as fuck, not in the _least_.

“I know your secret, Hale.”

Peter freezes, eyes wide, and he knows he looks guilty as sin. _There's no fucking way he can know_. Peter is always very careful, he has near- _perfect_ control...

And then Chris rests his hand over Peter's heart, and it's racing..

But he starts relaxing slightly because _Oh that secret_ , and then it picks up again because _Chris fucking Argent is hitting on him._

This, though, this Peter knows how to handle. He takes a step closer to Chris, lips pursed in a smirk, and there's maybe an inch of space between them. “Oh, _really_?”

Chris fists his shirt, and pulls him that last bit closer, pressing their bodies together.

The older boy's chin is tilted up and then their lips clash, and there's no finesse to it, because Chris kisses hard and demanding, and Peter is overly eager and sloppy, but it works, oh god does it _work_.

Peter's never been so hard from a kiss in his _life_.

He can see the dazed look in Chris' eyes as he finally pulls back, and they stare at each other for a moment, wide eyed and raw.

Then the rain that had stopped, now began anew, with a vengeance.

Peter laughs and lifts his face to the sky. Chris grins, eyes wicked, reflecting the lightning.

“How long til your ride comes?”

Peter shrugs. “30 minutes ago. Never.”

Chris is considering something and then he nods decisively. “C'mon.”

He threads his fingers through Peter's, and pulls the taller boy behind him.

Chris takes him back into the school, into the locker room. He pulls out a lock-pick kit and opens the coach's office.

_Fuck that's hot._

Chris grabs a clean towel from the stack and brings it to Peter, throwing it over his head and drying him off roughly.

Peter flails a bit, but only because he'd be expected to. He's actually got a very tight rein on himself right now.

He _has_ to. Peter hasn't felt this out of control since he was a kid.

The scariest part is how _alive_ Chris is making him feel.

When Chris removes the towel, Peter's hair is wild and the older boy runs his hands through it. Without warning, they tighten and he tugs slightly, and Peter squeaks.

Actually _squeaks_.

He flushes with embarrassment, but Chris grins predatorily, and then twists that grip and watches Peter's reaction.

He manages not to squeak this time.

Peter does reach out and settle his hands on Chris' hips.

“You a fan of playing rough, Christopher?” He hides a wince at how rough and raw his voice sounds.

In response, Chris shoves him back against the wall of the office, claiming the werewolf's lips roughly again as he tugs at Peter's shirt.

The wolf obligingly lifts his arms and his shirt flies across the room.

Chris sets to marking him, and Peter has to concentrate to not let them heal, and it's _not_ easy to concentrate because _Chris Argent is marking him_.

By the time Chris' hands reach his zipper, Peter is almost ready to finish, and he is forced to grab Chris' wrist to stop him.

“Slow down there, Christopher.” Jesus his voice is _wrecked_. “You haven't even bought me dinner yet.”

He manages to inject a teasing tone into his voice.

Chris stills and huffs a laugh against Peter's neck. “Sorry, I'm not...” He pulls his head back and lifts a hand to cup Peter's cheek. “I've never...” Chris clears his throat. “I'm not sure what I'm doing.”

Chris is actually fucking blushing, and Peter is already so far gone for this guy because he even finds _that_ sexy.

“You've never..?” Peter repeats, trying to get it through his head. How could someone like Chris Argent never been with some- And then he answers his own question. “..with a boy.”

“Yeah. Never wanted to before-” Chris cuts off and looks down.

Peter can't...he just can't process that right now.

“Alright,” he says after a moment of silence. “Here's what's going to happen.”

Those crystal blue eyes lift up to his and Peter is so _fucked_.

“You're going to take your shirt off, so we're on a level playing field. Then we're going to kiss for approximately ten minutes.” Peter is a planner, okay? Plans needs details.

“Then we're going to swap shirts, because I like the way you smell.” _Well, that's not creepy at all._

“And, then,” Chris is already removing his shirt, so Peter reaches out to slide his palms against the smooth skin. “You're going to go home and think about this. _Really_ think.”

The werewolf's voice turns serious. “Because I'm not looking for a casual fuck, Christopher. So if that's what you want, I can steer in you that direction. Me, I'm all or nothing.”

Chris nods, and wraps his arms around Peter's neck, pressing their bodies together, lifting his chin for another kiss.

Peter manages to refrain with a herculean effort. “I'm not done, Christopher.”

Chris presses his lips to Peter's jaw instead, whispering softly. “I'm listening.”

Peter swallows hard. “Um. _Think_ , yes. You're going to really think about it, and if you still want to do this-”

Chris experimentally nips at Peter's neck, and the world fuzzes out a second.. Peter is glad that he's got his eyes closed, because he can feel the sting of his claws.

He curls his hands into fists and takes a deep breath. “-then meet me here tomorrow night. Midnight. Behind the school.”

Chris pulls back and nods. “I promise.”

-

Pain. That's all he can think about. Chris _hurts_ like he's never hurt before.

And given the previous 'lessons' from his father, that's a hell of an accomplishment.

He checks his watch, lifting his arm with difficulty, because he's got at least two cracked ribs, and he thinks maybe one is pressing against his lungs because he can't seem to catch his breath.

It's almost two. There's no way that Peter is still there.

But he has to see it through, has to hear it from Peter's lips, _has to know for sure_.

Chris stumbles into the school parking lot. He walked the half-mile and he's wavering on his feet but he's still upright.

He supposes he has his father to thank for that too. He's been trained since he could walk how to push past pain. In more ways than one.

“Peter,” he croaks out, but Chris is too far away. Even for a werewolf's hearing.

He drags himself to the school, and uses the building to keep him upright as he rounds the back.

And doesn't see Peter.

_Did you think he would wait for you?_ The nasty voice in his head sounds like Gerard.

“Peter!”

The shout makes him cough, and Chris slumps against the wall. His leg gives way and Chris falls to the ground.

He stays there with his eyes closed, and he's not crying, it must be the rain.

“Peter, why didn't you tell me?”

And then impossibly Peter is _there_ , arms wrapped around him, and Chris thinks maybe he's hallucinating.

Peter pulls him into a doorway, because its raining again. _Why is it always raining?_

“Tell you what, Chris? What happened? Who did this to you?”

The wolf sounds frantic.

Chris takes a deep, rattling breath. “Like it when you call me Christopher.”

Peter snorts and shakes his head. “Christopher. Who...?”

Chris looks up at him, and his eyes are glowing golden. He reaches up to touch Peter's cheek gently, wincing as it pulls on the cracked ribs.  
“Dad. Told him. Bout you.”

Peter is shocked silent for a minute. He's heard of people getting beat up for what they're doing, but this is _California_.

“Why didn't you tell me?”

Peter is confused. “Tell you what?”

“Peter.” Chris coughs. “Peter, I'm a _hunter_.”

Peter's world shatters to pieces.

\- - - - -

Chris wakes from the memory, but he's still in pain.

Before he moves, the hunter does a quick sweep of his body; fingers and toes move, so his spine is alright. Chris can't hear anything, but when he flutters his eyes open, there's shadowy images, so brain damage isn't likely. Anything else he can heal from.

Carefully, he shifts his body, and there's heavy weight on top of him, but he seems to be more or less intact.

Chris moves again, to the side to get some leverage, and the weight slides away and then the sunlight hits him, and he has to cover his eyes.

He hears something then, and then there's someone in uniform trying to talk to him, but he shakes his head, because he's only getting fleeting impressions of sounds.

Chris looks over and there's Peter, and he abruptly shoves the paramedic away to crawl to Peter's body, which had obviously been the weight.

Peter used his body to shelter the hunter from the blast.

His entire back is raw and shredded, and Chris starts picking splinters and shards of glass out, and he doesn't realize he's repeating “No” until he suddenly hears his own voice, raw and broken.

They're pulling him away from Peter and the medic is shaking his head, but Peter's a were, he will heal, and Chris would _know_ , he just would.

They're forced to sedate him.

-

Chris wakes in the hospital. He can hear the monitors, and he sighs in relief. _Not permanent then._

He opens his eyes in the twilight of the room. _Sight's better._

And then he remembers.

_Peter_.

His heartbeat must spike because there's a chuckle in the room, and then that smug, arrogant voice. “I'm fine.”

“You're an asshole.” Chris' voice is a harsh whisper.

“Is that any way to treat the man who saved your life? At least twice now, if I recall correctly. I do believe that ought to come with some sort of reward-”

“I love you.”

The silence that drops in the room is absolute.

This is not a thing they do, not a thing _Chris_ does.

Not even back in the beginning, when they were young and stupid, sneaking around and thinking they wouldn't get caught.

Chris counts to two hundred and sixty before Peter takes a breath.

“Those must be some really good drugs. We should see about keeping some on tap for the Pack. Speaking of, everyone's fine. Well, except the McCall house. It's leveled. They're moving in with the Stilinskis for a while...”

Peter voice trails off as he looks up and Chris is out again. He presses a soft kiss to the top of Chris' head.

“I love you too, Christopher.”

-

Derek and Scott think that Rue is dead. “No one could have survived that.”

Peter and Stiles are adamant that he's still out there and will be coming back. “We did.”

It's Lydia (of course it is) who comes up with the solution. Well, _a_ solution. “His power is cold, so our Stiles is going to have to go hot.”

Stiles, naturally, leers at her with a wink. “I'm pretty hot already.”

Peter smirks. “I'll say.”

“ _Peter_.”

Derek and Chris say it in unison, and then eye each other. Stiles and Peter share an amused look.

Lydia huffs. “Look, obviously he doesn't have his own Lydia, or he would have been prepared for _every_ contingency. So, you be the obvious counter and I will be the less obvious one.”

She leans back and studies her nails a moment. “Stiles, you're going to be the greatest expert on fire magic that ever existed. Do it fast. We have no idea how much time we have.”

-

They bring Sadie to visit him. Along with the whole pack, because they have no idea how she's going to react to the hospital.

She happily babbles away to Papa Chris, and shows no sign of being upset by the strange sounds and smells.

“There's something very odd about that child.”

Stiles snorts. “Nah. I mean, she's the daughter of a mage/demon, and a were-coyote, whose parents were a were-jaguar and a magically endowed werewolf, and raised by a hunter. That's _perfectly_ normal.”

Peter eyes him. Stiles beams brightly back.

Peter snorts and rolls his eyes. He won't admit it, but it's good to have Stiles back in the fold.

He balances out Derek.

As Lydia does for Scott.

Peter idly wonders how long it will take for Derek and Scott to realize.

Balance. _Balance_.

Peter slips away when no one is looking.

-

He goes back to the scene of the crime.

“I got your message.”

Peter nods to Deaton and extends a hand. “I need to feel the balance here.”

Deaton gives Peter that enigmatic half-smirk that he _has_ to have practiced in the mirror a thousand times. “You want to set up an early warning system.”

“You know me too well, old friend.”

They settle onto the ground at the nexus of the explosion, and clasp hands in a specific and proscribed way.

For the next two hours, their minds are merged, testing the harmony and balance, getting a taste for the residual energy of that other universe.

Then Deaton tiredly breaks the connection.

He pulls a needle from his case and jabs it into Peter's arm, drawing a vial of blood.

Peter sighs. “You could have warned me.”

Deaton manages a credible innocent look. “Where's the fun in that?”

He draws another from himself, more gently, Peter notices.

Deaton builds a tiny fire in the center of the blast radius, and sprinkles the mixed blood over it.

“That's the best I can do. If something from that universe touches here again, we'll know.”

“How far?”

“Mile, maybe two.”

“Fair enough. Thank you.”

Alan's smile is sad. It has been for years. “Anytime, Peter.”

-

Chris comes home to an empty house.

Sadie is with her father and the rest of the pack.

Peter has fucked off to wherever. It's obvious he hasn't been staying here.

_Story of my life._

Chris sets his bag down in his bedroom, dumping his clothes in the hamper before heading for the shower.

When he comes out of the bedroom, pajama pants slung low around his hips, wet hair a wild mess, Peter is there. He's brought takeout.

Chris crosses his arms and leans against the kitchen wall.

Peter's eyes rake over him.

“Do you know what I've been thinking about, Peter?”

Peter tilts his head and lofts a brow.

“His hands on you.” Chris pushes off from the wall, and stalks closer to where Peter is sitting. “His lips on yours.”

Chris curls his hand around the wolf's neck, his thumb stroking Peter's throat. He leans in and whispers into the younger man's ear. “You broke the rules, Peter.”

Peter's eighty-five percent sure this is going in a good direction. He decides on his response accordingly.

His chin lifts arrogantly and his tone is flippant. “I never actually agreed to those rules...”

The hand around his neck tightens, and Chris bites his ear hard. _Definitely a good direction._

“I think you've forgotten who you belong to.”

“And I suppose you're going to-”

“Shut up, Peter. I have a better use for that mouth of yours.”

Peter shuts up.

\- - - - -

“Hi, honey, I'm hoooome.” Rue's voice sings out over the silence inside his mansion. “ Apparently.”

He shucks off the torn jacket, eying it with a sigh and then hanging it up.

“Derek!” His voice is sharp now, hard with command. “HEEL.”

A wolf comes skulking down the hallway, like it's trying to hide in the shadows. Which is completely ludicrous because it is a very big wolf.

Rue curls a finger in the ring at the front of the collar secured tightly around the wolf's neck and pulls it close, leather clad hands stroking its head just like you'd do with a lapdog. “That's my good boy.”

Once, Derek would have growled, bit, _fought_.

He knows better now.

Rue twists something and steps back, and Derek is painfully forced back into human form, screaming.

The mage shucks off his shirt, exposing the wounds from the alter-universe's Scott McCall.

Rue extends his hand and Derek obediently puts his in it, black veins running up his arm as soon as Rue puts it to his skin.

The mage takes a deep breath. “Ah, that's much better.” He closes his eyes and concentrates.

Derek suddenly begins to shiver wildly, and his eyes flare red, as the rent muscles of the mage's stomach and back knit themselves together, skin following soon after.

“Excellent, thank you, pet. Corner.”

Derek goes right to the corner and curls himself into it as tightly as he can. The smaller he can be, the better.

Rue picks up his phone and dials. “Hey, gorgeous.”

He listens a moment. “In a way. I'm going to need you to dig up everything you can on Scott McCall and Kate Argent.”

Rue paces as he listens. Derek watches warily.

“Excellent. A couple weeks at most.”

Rue wanders over and starts poking through the tool box on top of his dresser. He picks up a series of blades, considering them one by one and then replacing them.

“It's a date.”

Rue pulls out an X-acto knife and nods to himself, turning to Derek with a vicious gleam in his silver eyes.

“I have promises to keep.”

**Author's Note:**

> Inspiration: Falls Apart by Thousand Foot Krutch
> 
> Please let me know if there's anything I need to tag. <3
> 
>  
> 
> [Tumblr](goddessofcruelty.tumblr.com)


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